


Everything Was Exactly How It Seemed

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 11:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: A one-night stand to blow off steam before the new corporate overlord showed up to dismantle his company seemed like a great idea to Bellamy, and it probably would have worked out splendidly, if he hadn't accidentally sleptwithsaid corporate overlord. Now she's still here, still planning to dismantle his company, and he's having to way too hard tonotstill like her.





	Everything Was Exactly How It Seemed

**Author's Note:**

> Giveaway fic for [julibernardo](http://julibernardo.tumblr.com/). Very loosely based on the movie _New In Town_.

Bellamy doesn't think much of the hookup.

Okay, that's not entirely accurate. The hookup itself is great. The woman, Clarke, is gorgeous, the sex is amazing, and he's not even surprised when she declines giving him her number, saying she's not in town for long. He's not in town for long either, really; he's in the city visiting Miller for the weekend, and on Monday he'll be back in his own tiny hometown. It's only an hour and a half drive, but to most people, it's a whole different world.

So he knew it wasn't going to go anywhere, and that was fine. He had a good time, and then he put it out of his mind, because it wasn't going anywhere. It's a memory he'll probably return to in the future when he's jerking off, and that's it. End of experience.

And then he sees Clarke in the front office of the factory first thing Monday morning, and his first thought is, honestly, _I can't believe I slept with her_.

"Here he is," says Niylah, bright and oblivious. "This is our union rep, Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, this is Clarke Griffin, from corporate. She's here to take over operation of the plant."

It's not as if he didn't know about her in theory. He knew that their new corporate overseer was coming in today; that's why he'd been in the city to begin with, to blow off steam and complain to Miller about how much his life sucked. Miller had made comforting noises and told him whoever corporate was sending was an asshole, and between that and getting laid, Bellamy had been feeling better about the whole thing. He figured he could handle whatever corporate had to throw at them.

Which, obviously, he still can. The fact that he had sex with Clarke doesn't mean he can't deal with her in a professional setting. He's still going to fight tooth and nail against whatever bullshit she's trying to force on them.

Clarke’s the one to break the silence, which Bellamy knows wasn’t as long as it felt. Niylah didn’t even start looking anxious. “A pleasure.”

Given he barely knows her, Bellamy shouldn’t feel so confident about his ability to read Clarke’s expression, but he doesn’t think she’s going to pretend Saturday never happened. She just doesn’t want Niylah to know it happened.

He doesn’t either, so he shakes Clarke’s offered hand with a tight smile. “Ms. Griffin. Welcome to Arcadia.”

“Thank you. I was hoping you’d join us on the tour.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to have a lot of questions, some about staffing. I assume you know all the regulations.”

Bellamy does his best not to wince, and he thinks he manages. “Whatever you need.”

Up until last month, they didn’t have this kind of corporate oversight. Mech Manufacturing had been a small, family-owned company, and while it wasn’t the best place in the world to work, it wasn’t the worst either. Mr. Wallace was open to employee feedback and surprisingly friendly to the union.

But when he decided to retire, he also decided to sell, and Bellamy's not sure he’ll ever forgive him for that. Not that Dante Wallace wants or cares about his forgiveness, but still. 

He sold to Eden Industries, and no one in town was happy about it. Eden buys up little companies, "streamlines" them, and turns them into cogs in the corporate machine. Without the streamlining, Bellamy wouldn't care that much; he doesn't care what he makes, as long as he's not making weapons of mass destruction or something, he's good. And in theory, he appreciates that Eden actually does their manufacturing in places like Arcadia, instead of outsourcing to other countries. 

But streamlining, for Eden, means automation, with machines replacing as many people as possible, and that means Arcadia dying as jobs dry up. Bellamy's odds of keeping his position are better than most, but he's still expendable. And he doesn't just want to save himself; he wants to save everyone.

Clarke wants him to tell her who can and cannot be fired, what union regulations will prevent and allow; Bellamy's going to make sure he hits her with every rule in the book. He's going to find obscure bylaws forbidding whatever he can think of, and he's going to fight every inch of the way.

It's not going to work, but no one's going to be able to say he didn't try.

"Do you want to just give her the tour?" Niylah asks, with an expression like she's very much hoping he'll say yes. Niylah is a great receptionist, but her dad had to retire after he nearly lost his arm in an accident, so he can't really blame her for not liking being in the actual factory much. She'll go in when she has to, but there's no reason to make her suffer.

He and Clarke could use some privacy anyway.

"Yeah, of course. Someone needs to be at the desk in case anyone else shows up. Ms. Griffin?" he says, gesturing for Clarke to go ahead of him, and her face startles into a smile, like she only just remembered she was supposed to be looking pleasant.

"Thank you. And you, Niylah," she adds. "It was nice to meet you."

He holds the door for Clarke as they leave the reception area and head into the factory proper, and as soon as it closes behind them, the anxiety kicks in.

Obviously, he didn't do anything _wrong_. She was the one who asked him back to her hotel room, and she wasn't drunk enough to not know what was happening. He stayed the night and they parted on good terms in the morning. Just because it was, retroactively, a terrible decision and he never would have done it if he knew who she was, it doesn't mean he fucked up.

She could still blame him.

But all she says is, "So, this is weird."

He lets out a small, involuntary snort of laughter. "Never been in a factory before?"

"No, actually. But that wasn't what I meant."

"I figured, yeah."

She wets her lips. "I wouldn't want this to cause--problems."

Her tone is careful, delicate, and he realizes all at once that she's worried about this in a way that hadn't occurred to him, and really should have. He knows how difficult it can be for women, especially in male-dominated fields, especially in new places. There's a nightmare version of this scenario for her where he tells every guy who works here that all it took to get her in bed was a slick smile and a few drinks, and the rumors destroy her career here before it gets a chance to start.

"It won't," he says. He doesn't want Eden around, but he's not that guy. Not that Clarke would know that, of course. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

Her expression gives nothing away. "No?"

A few responses flit through his mind, and he settles on, "You think I want these guys thinking I'd sleep with someone from corporate?"

For a tense second, he's worried he made the wrong call, but then she lets out a small huff of laughter. "That's your issue?"

"No. I'm not really that guy, I don't brag about conquests or whatever. But I get why you're worried. We didn't know, and if we did, we wouldn't have done it. It was a mistake. No harm, no foul?"

The desire to be done with the whole thing is clearly at war with her suspicion that he's lying, and he doesn't let himself try to rearrange his face to try to win her over. He doesn't know her; he doesn't know how to convince her that he won't do this. Honestly, nothing he can say will reassure her--all he can do is keep on not being a dick about it.

Clarke apparently comes to the same conclusion. "They won't hear it from me," she says, a hint of challenge in her tone.

"Then they won't hear it," he says. "So, would you like the tour, Ms. Griffin?"

She rolls her eyes. "You can stop with that. Clarke is fine."

"Clarke. And I'm Bellamy, just so I don't have to say that later. Ready?"

"Ready," she agrees, and he lets out a breath and gets started.

*

Clarke doesn't start wrecking shit immediately, which Bellamy appreciates, but she's far from a subtle presence, either at Mech or in Arcadia. By day, she prowls the factory, quieter than he'd like, watching as if she has a photographic memory, as if she's filing every detail away for review later. Murphy grumbles that she creeps him out, and Bellamy can't say he disagrees; they've had supervisors before, but they were usually more hands on. 

In fact, Bellamy's one of the few people she actually interacts with one-on-one, to discuss union issues and bylaws, and while he appreciates seeing her start to relax around him, the way that she's clearly starting to realize he's not planning to spread gross rumors about her, he still doesn't like spending time with her. She makes him itchy.

And that's just at work. The problem with a town like Arcadia is that it's hard to avoid people, and somehow it's even harder when you want to avoid them. If Bellamy never saw Clarke outside of the factory, he could probably forget about her, but somehow, she's always in the back of his mind, this nagging awareness, like a loose tooth in his brain. They always seem to be at the grocery store at the same time, and she's the only other person in town who uses the library as regularly as he does. She and Raven make friends, somehow, which means she's at the bar all the time when Gina is on shift, which is also when Bellamy's at the bar. 

And then Vera Kane invites him to dinner, and Clarke "just happens" to be there, which is some bullshit.

"You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Bellamy," she says, when he confronts her under the guise of helping out in the kitchen. "If she likes us, she isn't going to want to shut the factory down."

If he's honest, Bellamy doesn't particularly think Clarke _wants_ to shut them down, just that she understands what her job is. "Yeah, because so often I find myself thinking _I wish I had more flies_."

Vera pats his arm. "She's not so bad."

"You say that about everyone."

"Before the 2016 election, I would have agreed with you, but that gave me a whole list of people who really are that bad. Just makes it easier to see the good in Clarke. She's a little prickly, but she's fair. And pretty."

He groans. "I should have known you were matchmaking. I can't believe you invited my sister."

"Of course I did. Your sister is one of your most winning qualities. Shows you're nurturing, that you'd be a good father."

"It would probably work better if my sister wasn't Octavia. It's not like I did a great job with her."

Vera shakes her head, but her smile is fond. "You did. And I think if you gave Clarke a chance, you wouldn't mind her. She is pretty. And there aren't so many young people coming to town, you can't be too picky."

"I'm being picky now? We work together, and she's going to leave as soon as she's gutted the factory. That's not exactly a great start to a relationship."

"Well, relationships can start all kinds of ways." She gives him a gentle push. "Now stop talking to me and go talk to her."

He obeys less because he thinks it's a good idea and more because he knows Vera isn't going to give up on it. She's his mother's aunt, and even thought he was twenty and more than capable of taking care of himself by the time Aurora passed away, Vera's never considered age to be an indication of independence, and she always helped out as much as he's let her. If by some miracle she's still alive when he's eighty, she'll be calling him to make sure he took his vitamins.

Clarke's talking to Octavia in the den, and he's torn for a second, wondering if it would be better to get involved in the conversation or not. On the one hand, it seems dangerous, given that his sister loves teasing him, but if he's _not_ there, then she'll just be talking whatever shit she wants to Clarke without his knowledge.

He kicks Octavia's foot and sits down next to her on the couch. "Are you drinking beer?"

She rolls her eyes. "Vera said I could."

"Since when is it Vera's decision?"

"I'm nineteen, since when is it yours? I'm an adult visiting Vera's house, she gets to decide if I can have beer or not."

"Adult, sure," he says, taking a swig of his own beer. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"At least I didn't interrupt someone else's conversation to come and be a dick," she shoots back, not unreasonably. "He's not good at small talk," she tells Clarke. "He always has to make an entrance."

It's a direct hit, honestly; he really is bad at just sitting down and joining a conversation like a normal person. "Yeah, sorry. What were you guys talking about?"

"Classes," says O, and goes right back into it, but Bellamy's focus is on Clarke. She's got a beer of her own, and she's smiling in this kind of vague way, like she's happy but not quite sure she's supposed to be.

He's not sure what it is about Clarke Griffin that makes him want to read into her every minute expression, but it can stop any time.

Octavia finishes her beer and wanders off to the kitchen, leaving the town of them alone, and Clarke considers him for a moment before she asks, "So, are they faking it?"

"What?"

"Everyone who's being nice to me. I feel like as soon as I leave the factory, I'm in a nice, welcoming small town, and then when I go inside, I'm public enemy number one. You're at least consistent, so--what's going on?"

"Some people are nicer than I am." Clarke rolls her eyes, and he relents. "Honestly? No one knows what to do with you. If you're going to be a corporate asshole destroying our livelihoods, it would be cool if you could get started doing it."

"Are you telling me I should be more of a dick?" she asks, sounding amused.

"I'm saying we aren't going to like you if you rip the factory apart. There isn't a way for you to get out of this and be the good guy, not if you do your job."

She takes a deliberate sip of wine. "What do you think my job is, exactly?"

"We have the internet, Clarke. Eden isn't exactly subtle about what they do. As soon as they bought out the company, we were all reading about you."

To his surprise, she nods. "Okay, yeah, fair enough. But I don't want to shut you down."

"No?"

"Sometimes it's the decision that makes the most sense," she says, shifting her weight a little as she leans forward. "But I think we can both agree that I know what my company does better than you do, and we don't always rip everything apart."

"So tell me what you're doing, and I'll decide if I like you."

"Your factory is inefficient and you know it. The technology is outdated, your sales were plummeting, and you weren't going to be able to survive without layoffs even before the sale."

"Maybe not," he says, which they both know is a yes.

"I don't want to fire every single person, but you can't afford to pay for employees to do jobs that could be automated. You can't tell me you don't have people who would be happy to get a good retirement and get out."

"I can. Honestly," he adds, when she looks unconvinced. "There are guys who have worked here for their whole lives, and they'll keep working there until they die. They want to. If they retired, they wouldn't know what to do."

"It might be better to find something else for them to do," she says. "Work/life balance."

"Sorry, do you have a life? I seem to remember you getting drunk and ranting about how all you did was work."

It's the first time he's referenced their hookup since that first conversation, and anger flashes through her expression for just a second, quick and sharp and bright as flame.

"And I seem to remember you talking about how things needed to change at _your_ job, so don't act like everything was fine before the Eden buyout, because you and I both know that's bullshit."

For a second, the tension crackles in the air between them, the hot edge of a fight ready to boil over, and then Clarke bites the corner of her mouth, and Bellamy feels his own lip twitch, and then Clarke does laugh, just a little.

"Okay, so--both our lives aren't perfect," she says, with a huff that sounds like she's venting more than just air. "And neither are our jobs. Right?"

"No," he admits, for all it feels like too much of a concession. Even if she's making the same allowance, she's the one with the power here.

"Okay, so--what does a me being the good guy here look like to you? You said I can't do my job and leave a hero, so tell me what just being a hero looks like."

"I might have to think about that one." 

Clarke nods, finishes her wine and stretches. "You can let me know," she says. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

She pats him on the knee as she leaves, and Bellamy finds himself watching her as she walks away, trying to figure out what exactly it is he's looking for.

*

"So, that girl I hooked up with."

"You seriously called me to talk about girls?" Miller asks, sounding unimpressed. "Do you not have any friends who are actually into women who can help you with this? Do you have other friends?”

"Shut up. It's not about that."

"How is it not about that? You said it was about that.”

"Remember how I was getting drunk because the Eden rep was coming to town? That's her. The one I hooked up with."

There's a pause. "You hooked up with the Eden rep?"

"Yeah."

“Just once?”

“Jesus, of course just once. Fuck, I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“Why not? I thought you said it was good.”

He rubs his face. “Maybe we need to start over.”

“Yeah, you could start with why you’re actually calling.”

“I like her,” he admits. “The rep.”

"So you don't just want to sleep with her? You're trying to ask her out?"

"Seriously, this isn't actually about being attracted to her. It's just some additional fucking awkward context. But--she told me she wants to find a good solution for the problems with the factory, and I actually believe her, and now I don't know what to do."

"So the problem is that your life is going well and you're upset about it?"

"It's not going well yet, but it's going better than I thought. And if I'm wrong about her--"

"Yeah, okay, I'll bite. If you tell her some ways she can make shit better and she doesn't listen, what exactly are you losing? You thought she was just going to come in and dismantle your whole life. I assume you're not going to give her tricks for how to get around union regulations, so you don't have anything to lose here, right?"

It hadn't actually occurred to him, and he stops short, frowning at nothing in particular. If Clarke's lying to him and hoping he's going to give her some secrets that will let her dismantle the company more easily, he'll be disappointed, but it won't _matter_. Not in terms of the company.

"I gue--" he starts, but Miller cuts him off.

"No, you don't. You're just worried because you fucked her, and now you're getting to know her, and you like her, and if she's lying, you can't ask her out like you want to."

"It's not about that," he protests. Even he doesn't believe it.

Miller doesn't even respond, and he gives up. "It's not just about that."

"So don't make a move until you know what she's doing with the factory. Easy."

"Yeah, easy," he agrees. 

It's not a deliberate lie; he hasn't been tempted, so far, to make a move on Clarke, even if Vera wants him to, and a couple of the other meddlers in town. They're always looking for someone to hook him up with, and ever since he came out and they made no issue of it aside from adding young men to his list of potential partners, he's able to take it as something like a compliment. It's rarely personal; they don't think _Clarke_ would be good for him, any more than they really thought Harper or Jasper would be. They're all just young, single people in his age range who moved to town, and that was all the town gossips needed to make it a thing. They can try to push him and Clarke together as much as they want, there's no more to it than there was to any of the others, and he's not planning to make it into any more of a thing.

And then, the snowstorm hits.

For the residents of Arcadia, snowstorms aren't really a very big deal. They're not fun, obviously, but this one is both seasonal and fairly expected, albeit worse than it was supposed to be. But Bellamy has a job on the side driving the plow for extra cash when he's not at work, so he at least gets a few bucks out of the whole situation.

In theory, he knew that Clarke was supposed to be headed back to San Diego for the weekend--they've been getting along better, since the conversation at Vera's, well enough to share schedules and plans in a casual, friendly way--but he had figured the flight would be canceled before she even left for the airport. He assumed everyone knew better than to go out in this weather, her included.

He certainly didn't expect to find a car stuck in the snow on the side of the road, with a red shirt attached to the antenna like a flag, and when he got close enough to look in, he didn't expect to see _Clarke_ inside.

"Fuck," he mutters, but at least she's conscious; she jerks when he bangs on the window, offers him a smile that makes his heart stop. He doesn't think she's ever been so happy to see him. It's possible no one has ever been that happy to see him in his entire life.

"How long have you been out here?" he asks, getting the door open. "Did you hit your head? Where's your phone?"

She counts off answers on her fingers. "A few hours, nope, and in my purse, with no service, probably dead now."

"Jesus." He offers his hand, tugging her up out of the car. She staggers and falls onto him a bit, which doesn't surprise him--she's been in there for _hours_ , of course she's unsteady on her feet--even before he smells the liquor on her breath. "Are you _drunk_?"

"What are you, my mom? I didn't have anything else to do. Playing around on my iPad sober and worrying I was going to freeze to death got old fast."

"Fair enough. Do you need anything from the back? I'll come tow the car in the morning, I want to get you home before you get any colder."

"Bag would be good. What are you doing here?"

"Making extra cash. Come on." He gets her in the passenger seat of the truck and throws a blanket over her shoulders before going back to her car to get the bag out of the trunk. His own hands and face are freezing by the time he gets back, but the cab of the truck is warm, and he can feel himself defrosting immediately. "Have some of this," he says, handing her a thermos.

"What is it?" she asks, with a level of distrust that doesn't seem warranted. It's a thermos, not a grenade.

"Soup."

"God, you have a thermos full of soup?"

"Is that a problem?"

She sniffs at the soup, takes a small sip and then a much larger one, apparently satisfied that it's not poison or anything. "You're just so Hallmark-movie."

"Is that some new slang I don't know, or just a weirdly specific burn I don't have enough background to appreciate? I don't think I've ever seen a Hallmark movie."

She gives a vague way of her hand. "Just, you know, the perfect small-town guy. You're smart, you're hot, you're passionate, you care about your friends and family and coworkers, you're nice to all the meddling little old-ladies. If your teeth did that cartoon thing where they sparkled and made a noise when you smiled, I honestly wouldn't be surprised. And now you keep a thermos full of soup in the front of your snow plow, in case you find any poor girls stuck in their cars who need rescuing."

There's a lot to unpack and obsess over in there, and Bellamy's definitely looking forward to doing that at his earliest convenience, but now really isn't the time. He latches onto the safe part of the statement: "The soup is for me, not just for rescues. And you were doing pretty well. Did you have any water?"

"None left, but the car wasn't running. I could have turned it on and rolled down the window to get snow, right?"

"Yeah, that would have worked. The booze still wasn't a great idea," he can't help adding, because he is, at heart, a big brother, even if his interest in Clarke is the opposite of fraternal. "But I probably would have gotten drunk too, if I were you."

"Yeah, it worked out pretty well for me." She takes another gulp of soup and frowns at the thermos. "I bet you made this, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously, the most Hallmark-movie person of all time."

"Thanks, I think."

They lapse into silence again, which is just as well; the snow has mostly stopped, but the roads are still awful, and Bellamy should be focusing on driving, not on Clarke's drunken rambling. Especially not Clarke's drunken rambling about _him_.

It would be really pathetic if he managed to crash the plow while trying to rescue her; he'd never live it down.

She's half-asleep by the time they get back to her place, and he gives her shoulder a shake. "Clarke, hey, wake up."

She blinks up at him. "Hi."

"Hi. Time to go inside and get warm. Can you walk?"

"I'm drunk, not injured," he says, with a small smile. "And I can walk when I'm drunk."

"Cool, I'll get your bag."

"Did I thank you?"

"Not really, but I wasn't expecting you to," he teases. "You're pretty out of it."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Go unlock your house."

Of course she ignores him, waits while he grabs her bag and only then goes to the door. He hasn't actually been here before, but he's not expecting much: it's a rental, and she's not planning to stay.

In spite of that, it does feel like her, less thanks to the decor, and more from the way it looks like all of her files have exploded over the living room. Clarke is one of those people who's very organized and very on top of things, but cannot actually keep a place tidy to save her life.

"Do you have to plow more?" she asks, tugging his attention from his covert examination of the living room.

"Oh, uh, no. I was on my way home for the night."

"You should stay here," she says. "It's too late to be driving. There's a guest room, no one's even used it yet."

"I've got a snow plow, I can get home."

"It's late," she says. "I'm going to worry if you drive."

He opens his mouth to protest again, but he can't actually come up with any words. It _is_ late, and he is tired, and he wouldn't mind just passing out here, instead of driving twenty minutes back to his place. Octavia's in the dorms, so no one ever even has to know. It can just be their little secret: a rescue and a sleepover, nothing big.

No one ever has to know Clarke drunkenly told him he was _perfect_.

"Guest room sounds good, thanks," he tells her. "Where should I take your bag?"

Her room feels more impersonal than the living room, but that's not that surprising either. He doubts she really spends that much time in here. There's a bed, a dresser, and a closet; of course she's not going to have bothered with pictures or anything.

"Thanks again," she says, from the door.

"No problem. Glad I could help."

She worries her lip. "You didn't want to leave me in the ditch, right?"

"Jesus, no, of course not. I'm going to be pissed if your company destroys my life, that doesn't mean I want you to freeze to death on the side of the road."

"But sleeping with me was a mistake."

Tension races through his whole body, instantaneous, but he doesn't think she notices. "I try not to sleep with people I work with, yeah. It's awkward."

She nods. "I guess. I'm glad we didn't know. I'm _really_ glad I slept with you."

He's actually going to die. She's going to kill him with this. "This has been a really great night for my self esteem, thanks. You should have some water and go to sleep. Just tell me which one the guest room is."

"I can stay upright long enough to show you, I'm not that shitty a host."

Arguing would just prolong this, which is the last thing he wants; he lets her show him the guest room, bids her goodnight, and strips down to his shirt and boxers, settling in under the covers. It's warm and comfortable and probably nicer than his own room, but it still takes forever for him to sleep.

*

"Hey, sorry about last night," Clarke says, by way of greeting, when he comes downstairs.

"Hey. Why?"

"Mild sexual harassment? Maybe major, I don't know. I shouldn't have said all that stuff."

"Oh, yeah, uh--it's fine. It's not like I didn't know we slept together. How are you feeling?"

"Not bad. I don't usually get hangovers, and I drank a nalgene full of water before bed. I could still use a giant breakfast, though."

"Yeah? What do you have?"

"Basically all I know how to make is eggs and bacon. Scramble the eggs, microwave the bacon. Sorry if you were hoping for something fancy."

"Do you have other stuff?" he asks, and between the two of them, they manage to at least make some decent omelets, and fry the bacon. If Clarke believes this makes him even more Hallmark perfect, she doesn't mention it, but he's kind of itchy with _wondering_ , now. In theory, he doesn't fuck people he works with, especially not people who are sent by corporate to tear his life apart, and she shouldn't fuck him either, but if they both want to, it seems like kind of a waste. And he really, really wants to.

So once they've got the dishes done and it's theoretically time for him to leave, he leans against the counter. "I don't think sleeping with you was a mistake. For the record."

"No?"

He bites the corner of his mouth, but he doesn't think this is going to blow up in his face. "Definitely not. If you'd been in town for literally any other reason, I would have asked if you wanted to do it again as soon as I saw you."

Her smile doesn't make it to her eyes. "Yeah, no sleeping with coworkers."

"It's not like you're staying, right?" he asks. "You'll be gone in a few months."

"Probably," she agrees, careful, and his heart skips at the possibility that she might not leave. But she doesn't linger on it, so he won't either. He can obsess over it later, once this conversation is over. "Does that make a difference?"

"It shouldn't, but I'm basically just looking for an excuse to make out with you right now."

A grin breaks out on her face. "In that case, I'll be gone in a few months."

"Awesome," he says, and kisses her.

It's just as good as he remembered.

*

Sleeping with Clarke feels like it's basically guaranteed to blow up in his face. If his coworkers find out, they'll probably understand, not see it as a betrayal--she's gorgeous and the dating prospects in Arcadia are pretty shitty--and Vera and her friends would actually be thrilled, but he doesn't want to tell anyone, which makes him feel shitty. It feels like a lie of omission, even though Clarke doesn't seem to mind, doesn't seem to think this is really a _relationship_ so much as semi-regular hooking up.

Which it is. Or, rather, isn't. She's not his girlfriend, and he's not hiding her. It was no one's business that he slept with her the first time, and it's no one's business that he's sleeping with her now.

And it's not even like she's screwing them over, at this point. Like she told him, she doesn't _want_ to dismantle the entire company. She's been doing layoffs, but they're good layoffs, ones where everyone gets pensions and enough notice. She's even working with him and Vera to make sure the guys getting fired will have something else to do in the community. When he suggested getting Raven to work on mechanical upgrades, she listened, and things are actually looking _good_.

He'd be excited, if not for the fact that once the factory is in good shape, Clarke's going to be leaving, and his life will go back to being nothing but his job and his sister, with his sister getting more and more independent every day.

The smart, emotionally competent thing to do would be to talk to Clarke about it, to tell her that he _likes_ her, and he doesn't really care if they work together or have somewhat conflicting goals--he still wants to make this work.

It's a lot of risk, though, so he's sticking to spending as much time with her as possible and hoping no one notices other than Octavia, who is at least willing to not tell anyone else about it.

It's Clarke who, just over two months into the increasingly non-casual fuckbuddies arrangement, finally brings up the future.

"You know how I was going to be gone in a few months?"

She says it while she's lying on top of him, so she must feel the way his whole body freezes up for a second. But he manages a casual tone when he says, "Yeah, I remember."

"I need to make up my mind about next steps soon, and I could use some input."

"You want to talk work when we're naked?"

"It's more of a personal conversation." She presses her lips against his chest, over his heart. "I'm not sure I'm really supposed to say this, but I like you. A lot. And I'm hoping you have some opinions on me leaving."

"Tons," he says, relief flooding through him. "I like you too. I'm, uh--I really like you. But I know you don't have much of a future here, and I'd never--I wouldn't ask you to stay for me. But of course I want you to stay."

She props herself up on his chest, smiling, and he smiles back. It feels good just to have _said it_. To know that she wanted to hear it.

"I've got two options, pretty much. Eden wants a supervisor here, someone from corporate, and if I asked, they'd give me the position in a heartbeat. It's not the best move I could make for my career, but even with the pay cut, the cost of living is enough lower out here that I'd still be better off financially than I was. And you're here."

"But?"

"But you don't have much room for advancement out here either. You're smart, Bellamy, and talented, and I think you could do more. I know you love this town and the factory, but--you could get a better job in the city, with Eden or somewhere else, and you'd be good at it."

"You want me to move to California with you?" 

"I could be happy going back to California or staying here," she says. "They're both good options. So--I'm willing to make the decision based on where you want to be."

He tugs her in to kiss her, his chest too full of warmth to keep all the feelings in, and she laughs against his mouth.

"I probably need to think about that one," he says, when he finally manages to pull away. "But if you've actually got a preference, you should tell me. They're both good options for me too, and I want to be where you are too."

"I'm not sure either. But we can figure it out, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "I think we're on the same page."

*

Vera insists on hosting a goodbye dinner for the two of them.

“After all,” she tells Bellamy, “it was my idea.”

He grins at her. “Which part, exactly? You never told me to get a job in San Diego.”

“I would have, if I thought you would have listened. You and Clarke! I knew you’d be perfect together.”

_Perfect_ is a pretty big word, as far as Bellamy is concerned. He thinks they can just be good for now, and see how things turn out.

But they are _very_ good, so far. If he does say so himself.

"You tell me I'd be perfect with every single person who moves to town," he says, because telling your great aunt that you had a one-night stand with your girlfriend months before you started dating her is way too awkward. Vera can think this one was all her; he'll live. "You had to hit someone I'd actually like sooner or later."

"Is it that hard for you to admit you're actually happy?" she asks, but it's fond. "You and your girlfriend are moving to California. That's something to celebrate."

"Who said I wasn't happy? I'm thrilled. I’m just not sure how much credit you get for matchmaking when you do it every time. Your overall record is pretty bad.”

She rolls her eyes, all fondness. “Fine. But I did have a good feeling about Clarke, you can believe me or not.”

He looks into the living room, eye finding Clarke immediately. She’s chatting with Octavia and Miller, smiling and gorgeous, still amazing enough to take his breath away. It’s nice to not have to pretend she doesn’t.

“I believe you,” he says. “I had a good feeling too.”

And it’s just getting better.


End file.
